


artless, how scandalously alive

by blackkat



Series: useless porn scraps [34]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Finger Sucking, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, Pining, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 15:17:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Kakashi walks into the kitchen in a tank top and Ashura almost drops the coffee pot.





	artless, how scandalously alive

Kakashi walks into the kitchen in a tank top and Ashura almost drops the coffee pot.

“Kakashi!” he says, tries to make it bright rather than mortified even as hot coffee splashes across the back of his hand. There's heat climbing up his cheeks, and he doesn’t mind the burn on his knuckles when it gives him an excuse to avert is eyes without looking like he’s blushing over Kakashi’s bare arms. Which is, of course, precisely what he’s doing.

Three months since waking up in a tank with Kakashi staring at him, three months of Kakashi as his guard day and night and Ashura still can't read more than the quicksilver surface of his emotions, but this one is definitely _humor_ , followed by _attention_. It would be heartening, but Kakashi always seems to find Ashura’s bouts of clumsiness and un-shinobi-like moments amusing, and this is no exception.

“Maa, maa, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Kakashi says, stepping closer, and when Ashura goes to move back, to put space between them, Kakashi catches his wrist, rescuing the pot and then turning Ashura’s hand over. He studies the reddening skin, clicks his tongue reprovingly, and glances up at Ashura with a smile that crinkles his visible eye. “That looks like a bad burn.”

Ashura is painfully, pitifully aware of the muscles of Kakashi’s arms, the stark mark of the ANBU tattoo on his bicep. It’s too much, and Ashura is absolutely fine with Anko and her fishnets, with Raidō’s penchant for taking his shirt off when he’s training, but Kakashi is _different_. Kakashi rarely shows so much as the skin of his wrist, and suddenly having so much to look at is awful in the same moment that it’s wonderful.

“It will be fine,” Ashura promises halfheartedly, wondering how hard Kanna would be laughing at him for his crush on the man who rescued him from Orochimaru. Uproariously, he’s sure. She was always amused by his weakness for heroes.

A bare moment of concentration brings healing chakra curling to the surface of his skin, twisting over the reddened skin and soothing the burn back to nothingness. It hardly takes a thought, and normally Ashura wouldn’t bother with chakra for something so small, but he wants Kakashi to let go of him, wants to be able to put a safe amount of room between himself and Kakashi’s strong forearms, leanly muscled and dusted with silver hair.

This being Kakashi, of course, it backfires. The grip on his wrist tightens, and Kakashi takes a step forward, right into Ashura’s space. It makes Ashura twitch with the urge to jump back, but Kakashi’s holding him firmly, keeping him in place, and as callused fingertips trace across sensitive, newly-healed skin, Ashura squeezes his eyes shut.

“Hmm.” Kakashi’s thumb slides across the palm of Ashura’s hand, over the pulse-point in his wrist, and Ashura bites back a whimper, swallows hard. There's heat comparable to the burn climbing up his cheeks, and he wants to lean into Kakashi, see how soft his mouth really is. Ashura’s never even seen his _face_ , but he wants—

“Are you sure you're all right?” Kakashi asks lightly, but he isn't even _pretending_ concern—that tone is all languid amusement. “Maa, Ashura, I've seen you take a kunai to the chest and not react like this. It’s just a burn.”

It is. It _is_ just a burn, but Kakashi is _touching him_ , leaning closer. Ashura keeps his eyes shut, but he can feel the heat of Kakashi’s skin half an instant before fingers catch his chin, raising his head, and he doesn’t fight it even though he thinks about it. Opens his eyes—

Kakashi kisses him, shoves him back to pin him against the fridge, and the sound that tears from Ashura’s throat is part whimper, part sob. The coffee pot clatters as it’s dropped carelessly on the counter, but Ashura can’t even _begin_ to care. He gets his free hand on Kakashi’s waist, hauls him in, and Kakashi’s kiss is _hungry_ , deep and hard and the very furthest thing from a tease. It makes Ashura’s knees weak, makes his head spin, and he can't even manage a moan, breath all tanged up in his chest.

“You’re so cute,” Kakashi murmurs against his mouth, light and teasing, and sharp teeth catch the edge of Ashura’s lip. Kakashi doesn’t bite down, but the faint sting makes Ashura shiver, and he spreads his legs, feels Kakashi release his wrist to grab his thighs instead, and he’s hauled up and in. A yelp escapes him, sharp and startled, but Kakashi’s arms are all corded muscle under his fingers as Ashura grabs for a steadying handhold. He lifts Ashura right off his feet, and Ashura only has a second to feel pure, blinding _want_ crash through his chest before Kakashi is moving, stepping past the edge of the tiny kitchen and out into the main room, then turning. He falls back onto the couch, and Ashura lands astride his lap with a gasp, immediately leans in for another kiss.

Kakashi drags him into it, twists his fingers into Ashura’s longer locks of hair and then pulls his headband off. On instinct, trained by a lifetime of bad reactions, Ashura twitches, tenses, but instead of recoiling Kakashi presses his thumb to one tiny horn, and Ashura can feel the satisfied hum against his lips.

“I knew you were hiding something under there,” Kakashi says, but Ashura doesn’t even have a second to think whether the whole thing was just a distraction to find out before he’s being toppled over, onto the cushions, and Kakashi is following him down. He kisses Ashura again, deep and drugging, and presses into his mouth, hot and insistent and demanding until all Ashura can do is follow his lead, kiss back desperately. Kakashi’s thumb drags across his horn, the visible remnant of his grandmother’s blood, and he shivers, jerks at the prickle of cold heat that washes down his spine. Whines, softly, because even Kanna never touched them, knew he was wary of showing them, but—

He pulls Kakashi closer, loops a leg around the back of his thighs, and with a groan Kakashi rubs their cocks together, grinds down between Ashura’s legs and swallows his breathless cry.

“Kakashi,” Ashura gasps, and Kakashi hums, but his eyes are blown dark as he presses their foreheads together, and his breath is hot against Ashura’s lips. He looks like every wet dream Ashura has had since Kakashi saved him, and he rocks up, shoves a hand down between them. Ignores his own cock, even though it aches, in favor of shoving Kakashi’s loose pants down, wrapping a hand around his shaft. It’s hard, blood-hot under his touch, twitches in his hand, and Ashura catches his lower lip between his teeth to keep in his next desperate noise. A tight stroke upward and Kakashi makes a gutted, _aching_ sound, thrusts against him, and he shoves forward, catches Ashura’s lips and takes his mouth in a bruising kiss, and Ashura strokes him, tightens his grip and drags his thumb over the weeping head, smears wetness down the long shaft to ease the slide of his hand. The buck of Kakashi’s hips drags across his own cock, and he moans, arches into Kakashi’s weight even as Kakashi rocks down against him.

That thumb drags around his horn again, digs into the base, and in the same instant Kakashi curls his fingers tight into Ashura’s hair, drags his mouth away with a hoarse groan. He pants against Ashura’s cheek, thrusting into Ashura’s fist with mindless desperation, and Ashura turns his head, kisses the line of Kakashi’s forearm, the edge of his wrist bone. It makes Kakashi’s breath shudder out of him on a gasp, and suddenly there are fingers sliding into Ashura’s mouth, pressing past his lips. Ashura takes them gladly, wraps his tongue around the digits, pulls them in to lave at them, and Kakashi makes a sound that’s halfway between a groan and a snarl. He presses his mouth to Ashura’s cheek, wet, messy, beautiful, and his hips hitch with the drag of Ashura’s hand on him. Ashura traces hard-soft skin with his fingertips, skims his thumb up prominent veins, _grips_ —

Kakashi comes, breathless, soundless. His body locks on top of Ashura’s, going stiff, and wet heat spills out of Ashura’s fist, musky-sharp in the air between them. The curve of Kakashi’s cheek, the flutter of his lashes, the shape of his mouth as he gasps is something exquisite, and Ashura can't quite catch his breath in the face of it. he stares up at Kakashi’s bare face as he comes back, and slowly, lazily, mismatched eyes flutter open to hold his.

The fingers still in Ashura’s mouth stroke across his tongue, light and teasing, and then withdraw. Kakashi kisses him again, almost too chaste, and pulls back.

“Your turn,” he says, and that smile sends a shiver of sheer anticipation down Ashura’s spine.


End file.
